


The Sweetest Sadness In Your Eyes

by narcissus



Category: Incredible Hulk (2008), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-28
Updated: 2012-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:25:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcissus/pseuds/narcissus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not like Bruce regretted falling in love with Clint. He just regretted falling in <em>love</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sweetest Sadness In Your Eyes

There’s a deserted beach a few miles from where they’re staying. It’s funny really, how the beach is deserted. Bruce thinks it’s one of the most beautiful places he’s seen in a long time. Tranquil. Fresh. Such contrast from the havoc and the destruction of the life of an Avenger. They fight for peace but cause anything but in the process. This was normality for his teammates. Sometimes he misses solitude; for the freedom, but mostly for the inability to hurt people. To hurt people you love.

 

See, that was the thing – being in solitude meant that there was no love, no hurt, no problems. Some may say that it’s not truly living; and in parts Bruce agrees with them. But he wonders what it would be like if it was still just him and the Hulk, co-existing together, peace and chaos. When the only thing he had to worry about was himself.  Bruce picked up a stone, and hurled it into the moonlight waters, cursing to himself. How had he let himself get so emotionally invested? How did he break the one rule he had set?

 

He let out a long sigh, breath catching as a mist in the cold night. Bruce hugged his jacket tighter as a gust of cold air hit his lanky frame as he meandered up the shore. Things were so much simpler back then, he reminisced, as he stared out at the rippling waves. Back before Clint.

It’s not like Bruce regretted falling in love with Clint. He just regretted falling in  _love_. He loved that sarcastic bastard more than he ever loved anyone, and that was a problem. He loved how Clint made him feel, made him laugh, make him feel better. Make himself feel like he wasn’t such a monster.

 

But Bruce was a monster, and that was the issue. Clint wanted to be with him, and that scared Bruce shitless. What if he Hulked out while they were together? Perhaps during a petty domestic fight (which could be potentially often because Clint is Clint after all) or – God forbid – during sex. He had come dangerously close to hurting Clint before by accidentally transforming in the gym one time, many months ago. And Clint had been quite a distance away from him then.

 

Bruce just couldn’t take that chance. He couldn’t kill the only hope he had left in his life; and although it pained him badly to turn his back on Clint, it was for the best. Clint would get over a breakup with time, but he wouldn’t get over being maimed or killed if the Hulk came out to play. The image of Clint’s hurt face as he broke up with him… it would haunt him forever. He knew he had probably played it up too much - saying he wasn’t interested, they’d had their fun, their time was up. He didn’t know what hurt more – seeing the hurt in Clint’s face, or seeing Clint believe his lies.

 

Bruce felt tears stinging at his eyes, and tried to convince himself that it was because of the wind; because the Incredible Hulk did not  _cry_  – especially on his own, at night, on a beach.  But after all, wasn’t that for the best? Being on his own? He needed to be alone. For good. Monsters should be alone; then nobody would get hurt. Bruce understood why many people like himself turned bad - Most of them just lonely, misunderstood creatures that have people’s fear driving their rage and insanity. He pitied them once, thinking they must’ve been truly evil to choose the dark side instead of the good but… now he understood a little.

 

Lost wallowing in self pity, Bruce almost didn’t hear the footsteps come up behind him. He gave a soft start when he felt a palm press against his lower back, and he knew that hand,  _Clint’s hand_  – the hands that were so talented with a bow and arrow, and yet so clumsy when it came to holding mundane things. And his mind was filling with all these things he knew, and he loved, about Clint; and yet he couldn’t even find the words to tell him leave, go home, I don’t love you anymore. It shocks Bruce to feel his mouth move over these words, even though he can’t remember telling himself to say them.

 

Clint leans against him, so very warm against the cold night, and smelling like he always does - the infuriating little bastard. Kisses the back of his neck. Bruce tries to pull away, because this is too much, he can’t handle this; but Clint just slides his arms around Bruce’s waist, holding him still.

“I know this isn’t what you want, Bruce.” Bruce can barely hear the whisper, but it cuts through him like ice anyway. He stiffens, as Clint just kisses the back of his neck, and murmurs against his skin “You think I’m that victim here, but I’m not.  _I_ want to be with you. All of you.”

Bruce yanks the arms away from his waist and turns to face Clint. “You don’t understand. You’re not the one who’ll be responsible when you end up dead.” His voice cracked on the last few words, tears starting to prick at his eyes. Bruce turns and begins to walk off, because he needs to leave now, or else he never will.

 

Clint grabs his wrist with his agile reflexes, spinning Bruce around and against him, so they were once again facing, but closer this time. Clint raises one hand to stroke Bruce’s jaw, catching softly on the hint of stubble.  Clint looks into his eyes, before whispering, “Stop running. I need you just as much as you need me. You’re my rock, Bruce. I need you. I’m making the choice, I want to be with you, I know you won’t hurt me. I  _trust_  you. I’m capable of making my decision. Now it’s time to make yours.” Tears were forming in Clint’s eyes as he finishes, but he keeps looking into Bruce’s eyes, begging, pleading. Bruce tries to will himself to pull away, but he can’t, he needs this;  and then they’re kissing – and it seems so good, so right, and he wonders why he was objecting to this the whole time.

 

He pulls Clint close, because he doesn’t want to let him go, he  _never_ wanted to let him go – but now his willpower was far gone, it was too late. No turning back. His mind's telling him that this is a very bad idea, but all he could think about now was  _Clint_ , so warm and strong against him.

They end up in the sand, Clint propped up on his elbows over Bruce, who was splayed in the sand, the stars shining in his eyes. Their breathing is heavy, contrasting with the slow wash of the tide behind them. Clint runs his fingers over Bruce’s chest, up over his collarbone, before cradling his face.

 

“Stop running, Bruce. Let me take care of you.” A whisper against his lips.

“I love you Clint. I’m so sorry.” Bruce was close to tears again.

“Don’t be.” Silenced with a kiss.


End file.
